


Wild Hunt

by Bunnyhops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Miscarriage, Multi, Romance, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnyhops/pseuds/Bunnyhops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione accidentally stumbles across a solstice ritual at Malfoy Manor; and finds that she has attracted not one, but two Veela.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: 
> 
> **Draugar are the undead, often guarding treasure buried with them in their burial mound. They are unlike ghosts they have a corporeal body with similar physical abilities as in life. They are closest to reanimation during the midwinter solstice. For the purposes of this fic, all of the negative Drauger characterizations will not apply.
> 
> **Mōdraniht ("Mothers' night") was an event held at what is now Christmas Eve by the Anglo-Saxon Pagans, where a sacrifice may have been made.

 

oOoOo

 

**Prologue**

Hermione stumbled and grunted as the pain of another curse hit her in the shoulder; still, she ran on. She was dirty and tired, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for days, but she could hear the footfalls close in on her and so she pressed forward as fast as she could.

She couldn’t think; she couldn’t believe that this was happening. It had been years since the last Death Eater attack, years since Voldemort’s death, and years since she had felt this all-consuming fear.

As she struggled through the mud and the brush, stepping over fallen branches and thick shrubbery, and crunching over frosty backcountry woods, she placed her palms over her lower abdomen and swallowed a sob. It was Christmas Eve. Hermione blinked and rubbed at the tears. She was supposed to be home, decorating the tree and drinking mulled cider. She was supposed to be home figuring out what to **_do_**.

Leaning up against the trunk of a tree, Hermione took a deep breath. She needed to rest. Her muscles were shouting their dismay at the physical labour she now put them through, her body was numb from the cold and her feet were stinging with each step she took in the icy winter covering.

Once upon a time, she had been a skilled warrior, but her reflexes had grown slow in complacency over the seven years since the end. She exercised regularly, but this was beyond the steady running she did every other day.

Her ears registered more footfalls.

Bolting from her spot, Hermione launched herself forward, sprinting and jumping and sidestepping until her lungs burned, her side cramped, and her thighs were on fire. Panting painfully with exertion, she looked back to catch sight of the wizard chasing her only to be bluntly stopped by a wooden fence and then violently sucked through a magical portal.

Hermione landed on a soft tuft of grass with a thump. The pain in her shoulder screamed at her and the urgency she felt to get away resituated itself in her brain, motivating her to jump up, with her wand drawn, to defend her life.

Out of her periphery, she caught the clouds and storm in the dark sky; before her attention was drawn elsewhere, she murmured, “The hounds of hell chasing the sinners... The Wild Hunt, tonight.”

“Bloody Hell!”

**Chapter One**

Hermione, body tense, wand ready, and brain alert, blinked and sniffed at the scene before her just as a cramp seized her and she fought to remain upright.

“Granger?”

Her eyes moved to the tall male who had identified her, which resulted in her frowning, attempting to stand straight, and trying not to grimace in pain: her hip, her stomach, her shoulder, her ankle… She felt like crying, though, she didn’t lower her wand. “Malfoy?”

Something was not right. Hermione’s mind could not reconcile her attack, what her eyes were taking in at the moment; her memory of the war and the players in it.

Lucius and Draco Malfoy were half naked, dirty and there was what looked to be copious amounts of blood on their pale skin. The earth was turned and her mind recalled that they had been chanting something. Draco and Lucius’ eyes looked almost as if they had mirrors placed over them, and both men were breathing heavily.

As Hermione’s eyes darted over their bodies and the surrounding areas: trees, fire, other organic growth, and a white fowl of some kind laying on the ground- it’s leg was twitching; time slowed. In slow motion, Hermione watched the liquid darkness pool and slowly ripple from Draco’s forearm and down his palm to form a tear shape and start to drip from his hand. It bungee’d from the tip of his finger to the ground; Hermione’s eyes following it every step of the way.

Three things happened at once, just as the droplet was welcomed by the earth: a sharp pain slashed through Hermione’s stomach, causing her to gasp and double over then tumble to the ground; Lucius fell to his knees, shouted and grabbed at his chest as it brutally squeezed his heart while his mind seemingly collapsed in on itself; and with a ferocious growl, an other-worldly animal erupted from the ground and formed into one once believed dead.

Draco stood there, unable to wrap his brain around the occurrences that he was processing right in front of his very eyes. Clearly, Hermione had been cursed, she was weak and bleeding, and had been hunching over a bit with her hand over her stomach. His mind whirred with questions and possible answers, all of his knowledge beating like bat wings against the cave walls of his mind.

His father and he were completing the solstice ritual to renew the Malfoy earth, bring good fortune, and reinforce their commitment to the land on which they lived. They were almost done, only leaving the blood bonding of the sacrificed animal; one of the female peacock’s in this case. It sparked the animalistic nature of his family secret: Veela. His father was half, he was a quarter. Draco’s eyes darted to the growling being looking an awfully lot like his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, who was full Veela, and who had been dead for forty-plus years.

The full Veela was panting and leering at the writhing Muggle-born witch, who, incidentally, should not have been able to enter the Malfoy grounds at all, much less during a highly magical time of year during a highly magical ritual. There was only one thing that would allow her to enter, and only one thing to bring his-

Draco’s eyes shifted, his inner self was scouring his mind for the word; Draugar. That was the word: Draugar.

There two things that would reanimate a Draugar; wealth or… Draco’s eyes shot to his father’s prone position. Lucius was on the ground grinding his teeth in pain, and currently attempting to crawl towards Draco’s school nemesis.

Mates. They were mates.

Draco had to act.

Right as Draco pulled his wand to cast a Stasis Charm over Granger then run a diagnostic spell to make sure she was okay, the witch in question screamed and held her stomach. A second later, her night clothes turned blood red at the juncture of her thighs. He knew what it was and his heart went out to her, but at the same time, the blood, the _sacrifice_ , was spilled on Malfoy land. It was Mother’s night, Mōdraniht. They hadn’t caused the sacrifice, but the land had accepted it just the same.

His smiled despite the chaos. It would be a good year; she would save them all.

**Chapter two**

Lucius was pretty certain that someone had ripped out his heart and fed it to him for dinner. Not only did his chest ache something fierce, his head was currently being crushed under a vise. He could only open one eye. He was in his bed, in his room. He wiggled toes and tapped his fingers, moved his legs and shook his shoulders. Everything appeared to be in working order.

Something growled from the corner, and he opened the other eye. “Draco?”

A hoarse voice replied. It was vaguely familiar and altogether creepy. “Not quite.”

Just then the door to his chambers opened and his son walked slowly inside, shutting the heavy door behind him. “Father,” Draco greeted.

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. Draco was usually much more assertive, confident, in his delivery. Another growl from the corner had Draco stopping his tracks and Lucius attempting to sit up.

“Grandfather,” Draco greeted, softly.

Lucius scrambled out of bed and caught himself just before the figure in the corner stood, with a sigh. “You’ve gone lazy in your adulthood, boy.”

“F-Father?” Lucius stuttered. Draco’s eyes widened; his father was smooth, always confident and never rattled… until now.

The large man stepped forward, and both Draco and Lucius fought the urge to retreat. Abraxas’ eyes were wild, searching. His breathing was slightly laboured, which made him look bigger than he was; and Draco thought he was pretty large to begin with.

Abraxas was not the fine-boned bird-like Veela Draco had pictured. He was thicker and taller than Lucius. Abraxas reminded Draco of a Viking. Draco knew he got his lithe form from his mother, Narcissa, so in Draco’s mind, he looked like a twig compared this …beast. With long fingers and sharp nails, it was slightly disturbing.

Abraxas’ eyes darted to his grandson. He could hear the boy’s thoughts and wondered why he wasn’t protecting his mind. Mentally, Abraxas scoffed. _Probably Gryffindor House_.

Draco reared back at his grandfather’s piercing gaze and immediately stopped thinking.

Silence occupied the room until the slight pitter-patter of bare female feet whispered through the doorway, and her scent swirled in the air around them, which had both Lucius and Abraxas lifting their noses in the air to smell, and prompting them to rush the door. It took all of Draco’s courage to stop them inside the room. “She’s scared already and you will terrify her.”

They could all hear her softly, but frantically trying to open doors. She was still a ways down, but the urge to comfort her as they heard her sniffling to contain her tears was slightly overwhelming for both Lucius and Abraxas.   But it was Draco’s words that they would add to her fears that stayed their actions.

“You know the female?” The hoarse voice of Abraxas queried.

Lucius snorted. “ _The female_ has a name, father.”

“Do not disrespect me, boy!” Abraxas thundered in hushed tones, which struck Draco odd that someone could pull it off so effectively.

Lucius closed his eyes and again fought the urge to flee.

Draco cleared his throat, and answered for his father. “Hermione Granger, sir.”

Abraxas didn’t speak, only processed what information he had been given.

“Muggle-born, sir,” Draco added, hoping that his grandfather would not kick up a fuss. He’d never cared about blood purity even though he’d tormented Hermione with the ‘M’ word. Draco knew that it would be a cold day in Hades before Granger would accept being called that again.

Abraxas twitched, shifting shoulders and stretching his neck. “Your name.”

Squaring his shoulders and bowing to the wizard, Draco answered. “Draco Abraxas Malfoy, your grandson.” Abraxas lifted an eyebrow and looked at Lucius.

Nodding his acceptance of the boy, Lucius felt pride and a slight relief that both of them would live another day. Abraxas was not one to ‘play with his food’, as it were. His Veela ruled during the magical times when Lucius was growing up, and now that Abraxas had been reanimated as a Draugar, Lucius wasn’t sure if his father would have a more human side at all.

His mate was near the door; he could smell her and he wanted her. Lucius was able to swallow down his growl of desire, but Abraxas was not and all movement from the other side of the door ended.

Abraxas shot Draco a look that conveyed near panic. Draco’s hands lifted in a message that told both men to stay where they were. “Let me talk to her.” They nodded and he was gone.

oOoOo

Draco tip toed out into the corridor and looked around. He could smell her. She smelled like blood. “Granger?”

He moved towards the smell, slow and deliberate. He didn’t want to scare her. “Hermione?”

Sniffling then a movement from the corner of his eye. She stepped out. Shivering, she fisted her small hands to stave off the chill. “Draco?” Her voice was weak and small. Unlike the Hermione Granger he knew.

Draco faced her and nodded. She was probably cold with the all the blood she’d lost, plus there was a draft in the hallway. He’d had Zephyr heal her as best he could. The old elf had left her sleeping, before Draco had gone to wake his father. Blood Replenishing had to be given after a meal or the person would be sick. She’d been in too much pain and emotional anxiety to eat a meal, so a Calming Draught and a Pain Potion were all she’d taken.

“Come with me.” Draco’s hand was out for her to grasp. She was too disoriented to object.

Draco and she had become friendly acquaintances. He no longer sneered at her and she no longer baited him. But now, she was scared and aggrieved and feeling a strange pull. “Draco, what happened? Why am I here? Do you- Do you know if…”

She was looking down at her stomach. There was pain; she had her suspicions.

“The baby?” Draco asked.

Her breath hitched and she nodded. He turned his back, pulled her along the hall, and slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hermione.” His fingers squeezed her hand gently, and she swallowed down another sob, choosing instead to take a deep breath.

The deep breath became a hiccup and the hiccup became hitching and the hitching became all-out sobbing … in the hallway… near _the_ door… on the floor. Both of them: Hermione sitting in between Draco’s legs, crying into his chest. Draco held her and rocked her and shushed her, but it seemed to only get worse.

Even Hermione thought so as she looked up at him, shoulders racking, and stumbling over her words. “I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry, D-Drac-c-co!”

He was about to tell her that it was all right, but he felt it: the presence. Draco’s eyes widened as the figure of his grandfather came out of the shadows and loomed above them. The man seemed to be gliding towards them, like a Viking wraith. Abraxas said nothing as he bent down and lifted his mate from Draco’s lap.

Hermione, to her credit, didn’t scream like a banshee, but she did promptly faint, making Abraxas grunt with humour and Lucius shake his head as they took her without a word and walked back into the Master’s chambers.

**Chapter Three**

Hermione’s dreams were confusing, but startlingly clear.

It was nearly seven o’clock on Christmas Eve. It was dark out already. She was looking at her undecorated tree and craving cider, and wondering what she was going to do about her most recent discovery: she was pregnant. She wasn’t married, she wasn’t even seeing anyone; it was a one off. Hermione never did anything like that… ever, but she’d listened to Ginny… again. They’d gone out and ‘had some fun’. The alcohol had been bountiful and so had the dancing and the wizards.  

She knew with whom she’d gone home. She knew who the father was. She also knew that she and him would never ever work, and raising a child with him would be misery.  

On the other hand, the child would be given everything, including an excellent higher education. It would most likely be magically strong and intellectually superior. She needed to think more. And she was positive that both parents and both families would love it.

Then there was a knock at the door.

She’d been attacked in her home. She ran. Mentally she frowned in her sleep. Her mind’s eye hysterically searched under her bed, in her closet, in the loo for her half Kneazle.  

Another rescue after Crooks died. Esme was rather rambunctious, and _slightly_ disagreeable, so it was likely that she was hiding until Hermione plied her with food or a warm, soft place to sleep.

Hermione’s breathing picked up and panic set in; no Esme and she didn’t have time to change clothes. The intruder was at her bedroom door. Hermione jumped over her bed and opened her window. Crouched and ready to jump the nearly ten feet down the side of her house – it didn’t look _that_ high up, the door banged open and the wizard fired off a curse that ricocheted off the mirror next to her then glanced off her hip. It was effective in pushing her out the window. Hermione hit the ground, rolled her ankle, and started running as best she could.

At some point, she Apparated somewhere, but her mind kept circling around the fact that her attacker had followed her and found her after she had Disapparated. _How had he done that???_

With a hiss and a lurch, Hermione sat bolt upright. It was dark, and warm. The fireplace had only the embers burning, lighting only that small area around it. She could feel that she was clean, her hair was not tangled – it was in fact braided into one long, thick platelet, and she remembered that she had seen Draco, but the rest was a little fuzzy.

She felt more than heard the presence in the room with her. “Hello? Draco?” Her voice was a little stronger, but still tentative. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the chill; it was magic, strong and comforting.

“Miss Granger.” Lucius stepped forward slowly. He had been standing in the corner, looking out the window at the snow falling. He had been worried. His mate had had a fitful sleep, but he didn’t want to risk frightening her more than she already would be by lying next to her to comfort her physically.

Hermione inhaled. “Mr. Malfoy?”

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

Pulling her legs under her and straightening the bed linens, she squared her shoulders and watched him, trying to formulate the questions in her head. When she opened her mouth to speak, another presence stopped her. It was large, muscular and consuming. Her mind assigned the name: Heimdal, considered the whitest of the Norse Gods and the one who possessed the Gjallarhorn. The wizard lifted a corner of his mouth as if complimented by her mental assignment.

“What am I doing here, and why are you here, in this room with me?” She asked this of Lucius, but her eyes followed Abraxas from where he was standing to him moving near her and sitting in the seat on the other side of the bed.

Hermione swallowed. The man was wearing black slacks with a plain white button down dress shirt. It was untucked and the top two buttons were left open. He made no sound as he walked, so she pictured him barefoot. It was sexy as hell.

Though she was a practical witch, she wasn’t impervious to handsome men and this man was beautiful in a ruggedly masculine, refined take-me-I’m-yours type of way. Hermione blinked away that thought and tried to ignore the hint of a knowing smile from the sexy wizard sitting nearby the bed, to focus on Lucius.

“Perhaps an introduction. Miss Granger, this is my father, Abraxas Hakaan Malfoy. Father, may I present Hermione Granger.”

Hermione nodded to Abraxas, but shrunk back slightly as he stood swiftly and walked to her side. Taking her hand, he bowed and kissed her wrist first then her palm. “A pleasure,” he greeted.

His graveled voice and warm lips shot electricity from her toes to the ends of her hair. She forgot how to breathe.

Lucius interrupted their moment, with a clench of his jaw and a reintroduction of himself. “And you remember me, Miss Granger. Lucius Hyperion Malfoy.” He moved to take her hand from his father, but the growl of dissatisfaction vibrating from Abraxas slowed his action; it did not stop it.

Hermione frowned and took her hand from Abraxas. She held it out for Lucius to take, but shook his hand instead of letting him kiss her. “Mr. Malfoy, yes. Are we at Malfoy Manor?”

She felt very uncomfortable in her state of dress and in occupying a bed, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Yes, we are. What do you remember?”

The question sparked an uncontrolled flair of feelings that washed over her. Fighting valiantly to keep her emotions at bay, she couldn’t keep the trembling from becoming apparent. “Someone tried to kill me! They came to my home. I couldn’t find Esme. I’m pregnant… well, I was… I didn’t know what I was going to do.” She swallowed again, and then smiled at Abraxas as he handed her a glass of water. Her eyes were already wet with unshed tears as she looked up at him to thank him. He couldn’t help himself, he quickly bent to cradle her, soothe her.

Hermione stiffened then relaxed. This was all surreal and she wondered briefly if she would wake up in her home and realize this was all a dream. Maybe Esme would make an appearance as a white rabbit.

Lucius sat down near the foot of the bed. “What else?”

Hermione nodded and sank back into Abraxas’ warmth. She missed the jealous sneer on Lucius’ face. “Someone at the door. They, he, attacked me. I ran, and then I landed and Draco and you were covered in blood…” She looked down at her hands cupped around the glass of water.

“Every year the Malfoy bloodline performs a ritual to enrich our earth and further bind us to this plane. We are Veela, Miss Granger, and you fell onto this earth, our plane, during this ritual on Mother’s night. The Fates decided on you and led you here. The land accepted the fate of your unborn child; the reward to our family was you.

“My father has been reanimated because of you.”

This was crazy. “Me? How?” She was Muggle-born. How was she a reward to the Malfoys?  
As her mind turned in circles, Abraxas squeezed her closer to him and nuzzled her hair. She could feel the vibration of his chest; he was …purring.

“We are mates, Hermione.” Hermione’s eyes popped open. She hadn’t remembered when she’d let her head drop back and closed her eyes, but she had.

“Mates?” she asked.

Lucius nodded. He looked as uncertain as she.

“Who’s we?”

“My father, myself and you.”

This was too much. But she just couldn’t find it in herself to fan her ire. She should stand up and rant at the men here. Possibly hex them for… for what? Healing her? Taking care of her? Letting her stay, clean and dry and fed? She didn’t think he was lying to her. He truly believed that they were mates.

Blinking, her mind withdrew into its archives of knowledge. She worked in the Ministry, alongside Fleur Weasley, caring for ‘reasonably cognitive’ magical creatures. Hermione had been exceedingly curious at the instinctual manner in which Troll, Veela, and Werewolves felt the pull of their mates. Fleur had allowed Hermione access to her library and her grandmother. The Delacour family had been patient with Hermione, answering questions and explaining the feelings.

Hermione understood about mates, but she would need to give this more thought.

Just then, Hermione felt a tingling over her skin. Hot breath on her bare shoulder. A splayed palm over her stomach; she could feel the heat from his skin through the thin material of the night dress she wore. A thumb slowly caressing the underside of her breast. The insistent hardness pressing against her lower back.   Heat pooled and warmed her lower half, making the blood rush from her head to her nether region. In moments, she was throbbing with need.

Abraxas was pushing against her and Lucius was now sitting in front of her panting and kissing and sucking at her fingers, one by one.

Hermione whimpered, which seemed to only fuel the fire. It was the pop of a house-elf that brought them all back to reality. It had Lucius jumping away from Hermione, and Hermione scrambling away from Abraxas, and Abraxas looking like murder at the house-elf, Zephyr.

Now, standing five feet from the bed, and Lucius and Abraxas, Hermione ran her fingers roughly through her braided hair then clenched a fistful of hair at the base of her skull. “What am I doing here?!” She looked half crazed, and truth be told, she felt all crazy, but she needed answers.

Zephyr, the elf, shifted balance from one foot to the other. He was holding something that Hermione distantly recognized, but on what, she didn’t want to speculate. “Mistress,” he asked quietly, trying not to gain the wrath of the Draugar.

It was a vain attempt. Abraxas growled and raised his hand to the elf. Hermione jumped in between them and shouted, “Don’t you dare!”

So surprised by her action and quite frankly her audacity to stand up to him, Abraxas lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow. “You will incur punishment for the elf then, child?”

Hackles raised, Hermione stepped closer to Abraxas, and with a stiff finger, she poked him in the hard muscle of his chest. “First, Mr. Malfoy, this elf deserves no punishment. He was merely trying to get my attention. He healed me, so it could be important.” That reminder took some of the wind from Abraxas’ sails. “Second, I am not a child, and how dare you threaten me! I may be a bit disoriented and slightly off balance emotionally right now, but I will not hesitate to hex you back to where you came from if you lay one pointy finger on this little elf! Are we clear?”  

The little elf in question flattened his ears and huffed silently at being referred to as little, but said nothing.

Hermione was so wound up that she didn’t realize that she had fully intruded on Abraxas’ personal space and was now standing chest to stomach, looking straight up at him.

Lucius was making an attempt not to laugh out loud. He knew Abraxas would not harm her… permanently, but he wouldn’t hesitate to make sure, forcefully if he had to, that she knew the pecking order.

The next occurrence shocked Lucius.

Abraxas smirked, looked at the heaving chest of his mate, and stepped back. He bowed to her, without breaking eye contact, and said, “As you wish, my heart.”

Clearly, Hermione was at the top of the pecking order, thought Lucius.

Hermione didn’t know what to do. She frowned then took a breath. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Abraxas.”

Hermione nodded, and a little shiver ran down her spine. _That voice._ “Abraxas.”

With the whispered acquiescence of her ire, and the thrill he knew he gave her, Abraxas offered her a heart-stopping smile, so sensual, it unconsciously prompted her to lean in and inhale the scent of him, absorb the heat of him, and allow his presence to calm her.

Lucius cleared his throat after a moment, allowing Hermione to gather her wits about her.

“The elf, Hermione,” Lucius reminded.

“Right.” Turning to Zephyr, she asked, “Please, what is your name?”

The elf kept his ears flat. “Zephyr, Mistress.”

“How may I assist you, Zephyr? May I call you Zephyr?” she added as a last thought.

The elf bowed, nodded, and lifted the white material to her. “For yous, Miss. Yous still… “

Hermione’s eyes widened as her brain processed what was being offered: a sanitary napkin. She was still bleeding from the… _ordeal_. She mentally focused on what she was wearing and how she was feeling physically. Immediately, she knew. Her face burned crimson at the thought of how she had come to be wearing one at the moment, considering she didn’t remember putting it on.

She didn’t let the elf continue his sentence; she grabbed the thing and looked to a bright red Lucius for direction to the loo. Clearly, he recognized the item as well.

He pointed immediately.

As she began to walk, Abraxas stopped her. “Where do you go, my heart?” There was humour in his voice, which enflamed her ire, as if she would change right there in front of them!

She was just too embarrassed to argue with him, so she made to beg… kind of. “Abraxas, please,” she hissed. “It will take no time at all to change then I’ll return.”

Lucius, not wanting to prolong her agony any longer, stepped in front of his father thus allowing her escape. Abraxas growled lowly, but did not detain her.

Once in the loo, she decided that a shower was in order; a cold one. Looking around, she realized quickly that she had no over clothes, no under clothes and no socks. She looked down at her toes. And she needed a pedicure, and answers, and time to think. Perhaps some food…

Her entire life, however meager it had been, was turned upside down in the course of an evening. She was pregnant and now she wasn’t. She was single and now she was mated to two Malfoy men; one of them brought back from the dead and very clearly more Veela than wizard. To top it all off, someone wanted her dead.

It was Christmas.

A second later, she had slid down the bathroom wall, sobbing quietly. Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been there: a few minutes, ten seconds…? But after a short time, she registered the pop of Disapparition and then a knock at the door.

“Miss Granger?” It was Lucius.

“Hermione. It’s Hermione. We’re mates after all, if you’re to be believed.”

Lucius bristled at the last bit, but confirmed. “We are mates, Hermione.” He walked in and stopped then looked down. An expression of alarm crossed his features before they bounced back to the ever stoic expression he wore. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the water taps.

Hermione nodded, and hiccupped.

She watched him test the water, add scented oil and bubbles, then turn towards her with an expectant look. Hermione stood and made a shooing motion with her fingers for him to exit the loo.

Lucius huffed. “Miss-“

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“ _Hermione_ , we are mated. There is no need for … modesty.”

“You may see it as of no consequence, but I feel very uncomfortable, being naked in front of veritable strangers.”

This time Lucius turned up an eyebrow; haughty arrogance clouding his usually handsome face. “Tsk. Surely, you aren’t that reticent. You are unmarried and were with child when you arrived; being naked in front of veritable strangers isn’t so foreign as you would have us believe, now is it?”

Lucius realized his mistake almost before the last word was uttered. “Get out!” she whispered, with her eyes closed and her body tense.

“Miss Gr- Hermione, I- It- I *growling*.”

The air thickened and her hair frizzed. “Exitus!”

Lucius felt the winds of magic push him from the room and slam the door.

Hermione watched him. Seeing him thus was quite satisfying, however, to be fair, she’d stuck her foot in her mouth more times than she cared to count. She would allow him some leeway. But right now, he could just stand outside.

Deciding to employ the breathing techniques she’d learned after the war to help her with her anxiety issues, she sat on the edge of the tub and let her fingers dip into the warm water. She soon zoned out, thinking of everything that had occurred during the night.

OoO

Lucius had never been treated like the way Hermione had done; Narcissa never once let him know if she was cross with him; she never showed any emotion positive or negative for that matter. Even when they had relations, she’d remained stoic, subtly letting him know that he was expected to leave her suite when she returned from the loo.

This put him at a severe loss when dealing with this witch.

Diving into the recesses of his memories to give him some experience to pull upon for his mate, he found a small cove of dearly cherished flashes of memories. He could vaguely recall his mother and seeing her smile. But it was very hazy. If he focused, he felt warm and comforted when he thought of her, but he couldn’t quite remember her face, just her soft hands touching his cheek or holding his small hands in hers.

He found himself in the next second very angry.

Thus, he began acting quite unlike himself. He stepped up to the closed door and pounded on it, kicking and shouting and rattling the doorknob. He was furious. Strangely, it never occurred to him to open it magically.

“Lucius!” It was Abraxas. He had returned. “Has her health worsened?” he asked, worried at his son’s display.

In the face of his father’s concern for their mate, Lucius swallowed and spoke nervously. “She wanted me to leave the room as she changed. I merely wondered aloud why; as we all know that she is less than chaste.”

Lucius knew that look. He’d been on the receiving end of a punishment on more than one occasion, and it all started with that look. Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Lucius decided he would not back down from his father. He was an adult. Though, he couldn’t help wincing slightly when his father approached him in that purposeful manner.

Abraxas was taller than Lucius; his broad chest butting up against Lucius’ shoulder as he hissed quietly in his ear. “That lovely little witch is our mate. If you aren’t able to treat her like your queen then by all means treat her disrespectfully, so she spends her time with me, and you wither and die from a broken heart.”

Lucius swallowed and exhaled as Abraxas stepped away and waved his hand. A bottle of wine and a glass arrived with Zephyr. Abraxas poured wine in the glass and handed it to Lucius then motioned with his head to the door.

For a moment, Lucius didn’t move. Another short movement of Abraxas’ head towards the bathroom, and him mouthing ‘apologize’ had Lucius stepping into action.

Lucius took the glass and knocked on the door. “Hermione,” he said with his forehead on the door and his eyes cast downward, “I- I shouldn’t have said that. Please accept my apologies.”

To Hermione, the muffled apology sounded stiff, but genuine. They were both new to the Hermione – Lucius game, and to be honest, Lucius probably had not offered apologies to many people in his life.

She opened the door. “Maybe a discussion is in order, Lucius.”

Lucius blinked in surprise then exhaled slowly with slight relief. “Yes, a discussion.” Then, “Thank you.”

Hermione smiled at him. “But you still must give me some privacy, please.”

Lucius stood straight and offered her a curt nod of his head. As he clicked the door shut, he thought that this was how a lady reacts. He had erred, thinking her loose, and she had reacted appropriately. His father’s interference had allowed him to gain his footing.

He would treat her as a lady should be treated until she proved otherwise.

Abraxas, for his role, stood hoping to see his mate naked. It was not to be as he only inhaled slowly when Lucius shut the door.

Hermione disrobed, vanished the offending soiled article, and stepped into the bath. It was heaven.

A knock at the door ended her sigh of contentment. She briefly wondered over the impropriety of having a man or men in the same room as she was bathing, but just as quickly shrugged that off; they _were_ mates. For what she knew about Veela, from her conversations with the Delacours as well as conversations with Remus about werewolves, combined with her knowledge of the law regarding instinctual-based mating of Trolls, Veela, Giants, and Werewolves; the Malfoy men would only need to file a petition with the Ministry swearing she was their mate and a marriage law would be enacted immediately. The Minister himself would ensure that Hermione was married to Abraxas and Lucius in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

“Come in.”

Both men entered, one with a glass of wine proffered to her, and sat down. Hermione sunk down further into the bubbles. The bathroom was spacious and very luxurious, and exactly what she would have expected in the Malfoy home. The space wasn’t crowded with the three of them, only awkward. Hermione grabbed for her wine, and noticed the way that Abraxas and Lucius followed her soapy fingers to her wine glass with their eyes then skimmed the tops of her bared, wet shoulders and shot down to her newly revealed knees as she braced her body to lift up to drink. It was one fluid motion, and mostly she was unaware of the effect she had, but a small part of her feminine brain was flattered and relished the slight power. It did not go unnoticed by either man.

Being a man of action, Abraxas grunted with humour then moved to lift her leg. Hermione startled, but then settled when his thumb pressed delightfully against the arch of her foot thus beginning the world’s best foot massage.

Hermione knew she was being set up, and she didn’t care.

“You want to talk.” It was not a question she posed, but a confirmation.

Abraxas’ silence gave Lucius leave to lead the discussion, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione interrupted with a completely unrelated thought. “Did you Disapparate? Where did you go?” Since Lucius had been here, she figured the pop she’d heard earlier was Abraxas.

Not stopping his massage, Abraxas looked at her and smirked. “To find Esme, my heart.”

Hermione gasped with glee and sat up, forgetting her state. “And did you find her?” she asked, eager to see the beloved pain in the bum.

Abraxas’ eyes were pinned to her dusky nipples peeking out from the bubbles and Lucius had his eyes closed. Abraxas swallowed and answered her. “Talk first, then Esme.”

Hermione harrumphed and slid back down in the water, lifting her foot for him to massage. With a smile, Abraxas began his enticement again.

When he heard the movement in the water, Lucius opened his eyes. His father unnerved him. His mate unnerved him. This whole thing was just so… off putting! He thought viciously.

“Where shall I start?” she asked, staring approvingly of the stem ware.

Lucius wanted to know how many lovers she’d had, but Abraxas beat him with a question. “How did you come by the scars on your body? Your torso, legs, and the _word_ on your arm?”

Hermione’s eyes involuntarily shot to Lucius only to find him piercing her with a stare that conveyed the message of him praying to all that was holy that she trimmed that story to a brief summary of characters.

Inhaling loudly, she took a rather large gulp of the rather fine wine and dove right into the explanation; right after Lucius cast a warming charm over the cooling water and a pepper up on the bubbles.

“Right. Well. There was a war, over blood-purity and power. My friends and I were in the thick of it.” Hermione traced the small thin white scars on her arms and shoulder. “These are from Rodolphus Lestrange, as well as the ones on my legs. I was captured and he was quite talented with a knife.” She lifted her arm to expose the _word_. “This was a gift from Bellatrix Lestrange. Maybe she thought I would forget. No matter. Molly Weasley put an end to her madness.” Swallowing another mouthful of wine, Hermione sat up, fully exposing her breasts and stomach. “These are from Antonin Dolohov. Poor sod doesn’t remember a thing. About anything. Anymore. Ever.” Hermione’s voice was both detached and held a dangerous edge to it. The Malfoy men shared a look then focused back on Hermione.

The wizards, her mates, hadn’t moved a muscle except to refill her wine glass. Abraxas broke the tense silence and picked up her other foot. “What happened to Rodolphus Lestrange?”

Hermione’s head lifted and her steady gaze met Lucius’ light grey eyes, though she spoke to Abraxas. “I believe your son introduced him to his maker.”

Lucius was surprised. The end of Rodolphus’ life had been a… private affair. He looked at her with curiosity.

She shrugged and began to rim her glass with her finger.

Abraxas seemed to approve of Hermione’s description of Lucius’ role in ending the life of the man who harmed his mate, and nodded at Lucius. The younger wizard preened under the rare approval from his sire.

Another silence pervaded the cozy atmosphere. Finally, Lucius’ burning question, “Lovers?”  He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.

He’d certainly had his fair share. Lucius’ mother had died in childbirth, when Lucius had been very young, so his father had been single for most of his son’s life. The term ‘man-whore’ came to mind when Lucius had learned of some of his father’s conquests. Lucius had met a number of women at Abraxas’ funeral, who Lucius thought had grieved a little too loudly. Then, when he was just starting out as a financial advisor, witches would sigh and say things like: ‘I knew your father. Such a _wizard_.’ They’d all had the same far-off expression, tiny smile, as if they were remembering a very pleasant secret. Hermione’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

“I lost my virginity during the war. It was the fall of fifth year, I’d just turned 15; 16 if you counted the Time-Turner year. Anyway, it was my turn to take provisions to Sirius Black; he was in hiding. I’d had a bit of a crush for a while, and he responded so ardently to affection: a hug, a pat on the hand, anything.  

“I was already feeling anxiety about dying so young, so that night I asked him if he would consider …deflowering me.” She sipped the wine and looked at her mates. “Can we continue this conversation in another room?”

Abraxas, if just realizing her need for level footing, jumped up and ushered Lucius out with him. They lit the fire in the study, poured firewhisky and opened another bottle of red. Hermione smiled to herself as she stepped into the bedroom. Abraxas must have picked up some of her things; there were pajamas lying on the bed along with Esme, who was nestled on a fluffy pillow, purring loudly.

Hermione entered fifteen minutes later, wearing pink flannel pajama bottoms, pink slippers and a white long sleeve pajama top.  

Lucius was glad she’d unbraided her hair; he marveled at her chocolate curls as the tip ends of her hair brushed against the top of her bottom. He handed her another glass and she smiled. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she teased, as she got comfortable on the leather sofa near the fire.

Eyeing Abraxas with a certain amount of mischief and mock scolding, she accused, “You’re a Legilimens.”

He smirked and nodded. “And you are an open book.” She couldn’t deny it. She’d always been and probably always would be. It was who she was.

They listened to the fire crackle for a time before Lucius prompted her for the rest of the story. “Presumably Sirius bedded you then?”

Hermione nodded and giggled at his wording then continued her story. “I was expecting him to put it off until the next visit or something, or try to talk me out of it, to wait until I was of age… I had all of my convincing arguments ready, but the moment the proposition left my mouth, he dropped everything and …I’m sure you can ascertain the rest.”

“How old was this Sirius Black?” Abraxas turned to Lucius, “Walberga’s eldest son?” Lucius nodded, frowning. He’d never liked Walberga, and he was saddened by an adult taking advantage of a young witch like that. He suspected that Sirius was not in his right mind, but still.

“He was probably 36 or 37 at the time. I’d imagined that he would be more… knowledgeable about women; take his time. It was one of the reasons I chose him, but in the end, he couldn’t find his arse from his elbows!” She gasped at her own crassness, and placed a hand over her mouth. “Goodness!”

Abraxas was chuckling and Lucius smiled. It made her feel happy… or perhaps it was the wine. Either way, she felt better than she had in ages.   “I hadn’t… engaged since then until three weeks ago, when a dear friend of mine talked me into going out. Have some fun, she said. Just live a little, she wheedled! Well, we did and I ended up getting half polluted, with Blaise Zabini no less.” She didn’t elaborate. They all knew that he was the father. Lucius was quite relieved that she wasn’t a loose woman.

She was beginning to believe that they _were_ trying to get her drunk as her wine glass was charmed to refill itself. She decided to get right to the point. “So how does this work exactly? We are …mates?” Hermione had drawn out the word and raised her eyebrows looking for a confirmation to which both men immediately provided with a head nod. “Is there a ceremony of some sort to seal the deal, so to speak?   If so, what then? Am I to live life wandering the halls as Mrs. Malfoy-Malfoy?”

“One Malfoy is enough,” Lucius responded dryly.

Hermione snorted. “You’re telling me!” she quipped.

“You know what I mean, girl!”

It was then that she got angry…

She didn’t know if it was his tone or that he’d snapped or that she hadn’t yet dealt with losing the baby or that he’d implied she was a child after everything that had happened. She could cry or get angry; she chose anger and following that decision, her mind jumped to his haughty expression and she mentally raged over the perceived idea of them being misogynistic pigs. Of course, she had no idea how they treated women, and in fact had heard that Lucius Malfoy at least was a perfect gentlemen, however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a git at home. He’d certainly proved his ability to stick his foot in his mouth this evening, but it wasn’t like she could ask his former wife.

She would work; whether _they_ liked it or not.

And she wouldn’t cow-tow to any ‘final say’ the man, or men as the situated dictated, of the house ordered.

Nor would she be treated as anything less than equal. So what if they were taller and physically stronger! And ridiculously good-looking.

She had great hair, and she was strong for her size!

Hermione’s thoughts continued to rage, and they were clear as day to the men watching her, and as the elder of her husband’s couldn’t help, listening to her thoughts.

Hermione pursed her lips. She was intellectually superior to most, emotionally stable and quite strong. She had a rather high tolerance for pain and she didn’t whine. Her magic was exceedingly robust and she could yield it with precision.    
Not only that, but she could, theoretically, _grow_ another human being!

If anything, these men would need to prove _their_ equality to _her_!!

Her glass refilled itself.

The fire crackled and Hermione’s mind calmed somewhat to note that it was a real fireplace, with logs and smoke and that warm wood-burning aroma that reminded her of faerie tale stories of homes and hearth and love and families. She wondered if she would ever have love. Her throat constricted and her eyes welled with tears.

_This is stupid!_ She thought, and closed her eyes, chalking it up to hormones.

“Hermione?” It was the dark, graveled voice of the Viking. She opened her eyes. Abraxas was knelt in front of her with his large hands on her thighs. “Are you well, my heart?”

Nodding, suddenly feeling tired, she answered, “I think I’m a bit hormonal.” Looking up at Lucius, who looked mildly concerned, though she didn’t know him well enough to determine his expressions just yet, she said, “I think I’d like to retire for the night. Is there somewhere I could sleep?”

**Chapter Four**

Exhausted. Hermione was exhausted. She needed rest; rest for her body, her mind, and her soul. And it was strange that she felt like she could get it at Malfoy Manor. It was a peaceful feeling that allowed her to do something she never did; she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Abraxas was an early riser, always up with the sun; and with his reanimation, he felt a strong urge to view the sunrise and revel in its beauty. It was not a disappointment. The pink and yellow hues of the brightening sky left him with a heavy feeling of life. It was not a burden nor was it something he viewed with trepidation; it was excitement and an urge to do better; to _be_ better. It was a second chance to be. It was all thanks to his mate; a strong witch that pulled him back from darkness; a darkness that was plagued with punishment.

He had not been a nice man, in life. He’d married according to family honor. She was a lovely witch by the name of Wendell Rosier. She was not his mate. He did not love her, and as a result he’d treated her with mild indifference; even after she’d given him a strong son, heir to the Malfoy empire.

Wendell had endured Abraxas’ harsh manner and unforgiving attitude. She’d supported him and kindly accepted the beastial nature of the Veela during magical times, which seemed frequent. And then she’d told him she was with child again. It was another proud moment for him. He would sire more than one child; a rare occurrence for old pureblood families. But then Wendell had died. He remembered feeling angry at her for leaving him with the child. He loved his son, and would love the baby as well, but it was not a father’s role to rear a child.

The memory came back to the forefront of his mind. The house-elves had summoned the midwife, who had informed Abraxas that his wife was labouring. Another day and night had passed before the screaming stopped. Lucius, five years old, had come running into his father’s suite to find him pacing.

“Papa, the baby…”

Abraxas left the room and his son with a billow of his robes, his heart pumping erratically. Against all tradition, Abraxas flung the door open and looked upon scurrying house-elves, and blood soaked sheets. He knew by the stillness of her body that Wendell was dead; he was apathetic. His eyes quickly scanned the room to find the midwife cuddling a tiny bundle in her arms. The woman’s eyes were full of sorrow as she looked into his. “She won’t live through the night, Lord Malfoy.”

Abraxas swallowed the lump in his throat, the emotion taking him by surprise. “She?”

The midwife nodded slowly and lifted the baby for him to hold. He took her, gently pulling the soft material away from her face. Pretty gray eyes looked up at him; she made a sucking sound and when he caught her tiny hand in his, she gripped his finger tightly.

The midwife was correct. Katherine Rosier Malfoy didn’t live through the night.

Abraxas set to carry on with life, hiring a private tutor and procuring another nanny elf for his son.

Lucius walked up behind his father and watched the sturdy man for a moment. He didn’t want to disturb him, but at the same time, he wanted to be acknowledged. The decision was taken away when Abraxas spoke.

“I had little hand in raising you, Lucius, and it seems that that was to your benefit. You are a fine man.”

Lucius didn’t know what to say, in fact, wasn’t certain he could voice anything coherent; however, that was to be quickly dashed by his father’s next words.

“Though, I don’t know you as you are now, and I have been wrong before.”

Lucius snorted. His father was not a complimentary bloke, so what he’d offered, Lucius took happily. “I will not disappoint you, father. Happy Christmas.”

Done with the emotional moment and seeing that the sun was up, Abraxas changed course. “Where is our mate? And what does a man have to do to get a cuppa? It is Christmas as you observed.”

Smiling at his father’s humour, Lucius called for Zephyr to bring breakfast pastries and drink.

“Zephyr, where is mistress Hermione?”

“She sleeps still. Pippa watches over her.”

This had focused both Malfoy men on the elf. It shifted balance from one foot to another. “Is she unwell this morning?” Lucius asked. For some reason, he thought she was an early riser as well. And elves did not generally watch over wand-wielding humans unless they were ailing.

Clearly uncomfortable with the topic of discussion, Zephyr did his best to answer, “Pippa’s thinking the mistress is needing care. No one’s cares for her.” Zephyr did not want to upset either man, nor did he want to invite any bother to mistress Hermione, but they’d asked him a question and he had to answer.

“Cares?”

Zephyr inhaled and settled his hands in front of his body and faced the two Masters of the Manor. This caused both men to sit and wait patiently for the explanation.

“Some witches can suffers, like Veela, if care or love nots returned.”

“Some witches?” Abraxas asked.

“Care-giving witches. Shes takes cares of others, but hasn’t gots loves back. It’s killing her. Shes got soul sickness. Theys calls it soul weary.”

The wizards didn’t know what to say. Once their brains started working again, it made sense that the Fates should provide her with two wizards to love and cherish her. Lucius sneered.

He knew that the two dunderheads that Hermione had pledged her loyalty to didn’t treat her well. Draco had ranted and raved about her besting him in school, but he’d also commented on how disgusted he was at how they treated their friend, who happened to be a female. Lucius remembered that Draco asked why all wizards weren’t taught to treat each witch with respect.

Lucius hadn’t had an answer at the time. He looked at his father. Those familiar steely eyes were looking back at him. Lucius could feel the chapters of his mind gently parted, revealing memories of Draco’s stories, Lucius’ own experiences where he’d witnessed the trio’s interaction.

After a moment, Zephyr cleared his throat, startling both men.

“Mistress just needs care.” With those words, the elf departed with a small pop.

Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy looked at each other. “Just care?” Abraxas asked. “Where shall we start?”

Lucius thought for a moment about what he knew about this particular Gryffindor. “Traditions. We can share with her our Christmas traditions and let her share hers with us.”

Abraxas approved of this idea and smiled at his son; it was filled with mischief. “Since you didn’t wake me with coffee and Lucia sweet buns, we seem to be behind in our sharing of tradition.”

Lucius scoffed in response to his father’s teasing. He enjoyed the banter. Before he could answer, the door opened and Draco entered, looking like a lumber jack, carrying an ax and wearing a red flannel shirt, large denims and heavy lace up boots, with a 7’ spruce tree hovering behind him.   He stopped short. “Father, Grandfather, Happy Christmas. I’ve requested coffee and lussekatter for you both.” Just then, Pippa walked in with the tray of sweet buns and a carafe of coffee.

“Masters Malfoy,” she greeted.

Abraxas walked to the small elf, making her flatten her ears and remain still. “You were watching the Mistress?”

She nodded. “Zephyr is with her now. Her soul is aching. She will sleep until you are ready for her,” she said, smiling in her elfen way. Pippa looked up practically twittering with excitement. “Would yous like the spices and tangerines?”

Draco snorted with humour, now keyed into what his elders were doing.

Lucius smiled as well. “Yes Pippa, if you would.”

The tree was decorated and the candles lit, the apples and glass balls hung. Lucius had already dug the pit, and the holiday boar was in the ground cooking.

OoO

Hermione shifted and swished her feet inside the covers. The linens were silken and felt heavenly against her skin. She was wide-awake and feeling refreshed. Smiling, she sat up. “Good morning, Zephyr.”

The elf was sitting on a too-big chair, swinging his feet. “Happy Christmas, Mistress.”

If possible, her smile broadened. “Happy Christmas, Zephyr.” She paused then furrowed her brows. Zephyr waited; he knew, and now she needed to know, too.

“Why me, do you think?”

Zephyr smiled kindly and continued to swing his feet – it was a favorite thing for him to do.   “You is a powerful one, Mistress Hermione. Yous help and care and love and protect your chosen family, but they hasn’t been there for you. Your soul is sick. It wants connections and ties that bind.”

Hermione stopped him before he could continue. He expected it. She was a special witch, but also curious. _They_ had told him to be patient with her.

“Doesn’t everyone want that? I can’t be the only one who leans towards nurturing and isn’t fulfilled.” Hermione shook her head. She was a witch, but that didn’t make her any more important than anyone else.

As if hearing her thoughts, Zephyr shook his head violently, nearly unseating his small body from the chair. “You’s is special! _They_ have a plan for yous.”

“Who’s ‘They’, Zephyr?”

“The Fates, Mistress.”

The elf, realizing that his mistress may be overwhelmed, hopped down and skipped to the loo. “Mistress, a bath before brunch?” Hermione could only nod.

Numb, Hermione watched silently as Zephyr filled the tub and then left, clicking the door shut behind him. As she slipped the shift sleep dress from her shoulders, she stepped into the warm, bubbled water and lowered her body.

Sighing and accepting the heavenly sensations that only a warm, scented bubble bath could offer, she let her mind drift.

A plan. The Fates had a plan for her, more than being ‘the brains of the trio’ in her teens, being active fighter during a war, and working towards equality for all cognitive magical creatures. She’d already done a ton of things, especially for her age and now the Fates had more for her to do? Hermione huffed: no rest for the weary.

She sunk down further and shrugged a bit. The first time she had had two rough, insensitive boys to take care of; this time she had two gorgeous wizards to care for her. They were hers as much as she was theirs. They were mates. That thought gave her a warm feeling; a tingling over her skin and a pleasant twist in her stomach. She giggled a little in a bit as a maniacal thought entered her mind. They _had_ to love her; it was against their nature not to. The giggle died down and seriousness returned. She would do her best to love them too.

OoO

The elf had laid out clothes for her. The attire seemed a little more formal than she was used to, but then she realized that this was the start of a new phase in her life. Semi-formal it was. Donning a lovely red sheathe jacquard dress with a halter-top, it fit her form perfectly. She loved the deep brick red colour and looked excitedly around for the absolutely fabulous pair of shoes that she just knew accompanied the dress.

She shrieked with excitement when she found the gold strappy sandals.

Walking downstairs, Hermione enjoyed the click clack of her heels. Feeling freer than she had in a while, Hermione’s fingers traced every ornate wrought iron feature of the staircase. She admired the art, the detailing of the crown molding high on the ceiling, the gilded chandeliers… everything. She had a new lease on life, she thought as she inhaled the warm aroma of citrus and spices and smoked meat; it was a lovely homey smell.

Hermione smiled and rounded the corner to the outer hall and gasped with glee. She could see the tree, all decorated and beautiful. There were floating candles and the wood-burning fireplace and … music, Muggle music! She practically twittered, hopping to a slight jog – or as much as she could while wearing heels on a tiled floor.

With tears in her eyes, she stood at the entrance of the large den and marveled at what her two men had done. She knew they’d done it for her.

“Granger, welcome back. They roped me into helping them decorate,” Draco pouted, handing her a glass of eggnog.

Just then, as if knowing and understanding that their witch was theirs body, mind and soul, Abraxas and Lucius stepped up and ushered her into their new life.

OoO

The three talked for the next two months about everything from business to politics to children. They wriggled an oath out of her that she would stay at the Manor and give them an honest chance to win her heart without interference from her family or friends; Draco notwithstanding.

She’d agreed, mostly because she didn’t have many friends, but what she did have she knew they would stand by her through anything. As for family, she was an only child and her parents were no longer living. To that, Lucius spent an entire evening getting pissed and apologizing profusely. It was too much for Hermione and she absolved him of his misdeeds almost immediately. Abraxas didn’t feel sympathy for his son, what he felt was adoration for his witch and jealousy that Lucius was getting all the attention.

Hermione had written her boss and sent a separate missive to Fleur to explain her taking a sabbatical. Fleur wrote back with an excited flourish to her normally clinical script, and offered to be available for any questions Hermione may have.

EPILOGUE

Hermione inhaled and stretched. She could feel rough fingertips skitter down her spine and tickle her bottom. She arched, pressing her round bum into his palm. It wasn’t enough that his hands were squeezing and kneading the fleshy mounds, but now she felt a warm wet tongue making its way across her shoulder blade.

“Ohhh,” she sighed.

His hair was sweeping over the backs of her thighs and a large hand was pulling at her shoulder. They wanted her to turn around. The moment she did: calloused hands pushed apart her thighs and lips attached to her clit. The aggressive sensation caused her body to bow, where another set of lips suctioned at her nipples. The pull of Lucius at her breast and the push of Abraxas’ fingers and roll of his tongue at her most sensitive parts, made her spread her legs farther and roughly card her fingers through each head of hair.

Suddenly, Lucius bit her nipple and Abraxas captured her clit between his teeth in order to flick his tongue back and forth. She cried out and bucked her hips as she came with such force, it made stars swim behind her closed eyes.

As if they’d been sharing this witch for years, Lucius and Abraxas flipped her over. They didn’t want to wait; it was Christmas morning. A year after their first; a year after their unceremonious union, a year after they’d found out that it was Blaise Zabini who had attacked her. And Blaise Zabini who’d been tried and convicted and sent to Azkaban. He screamed all the while that he couldn’t dilute his bloodline. There would be no children with a Muggle born.

Grunting with pleasure, Abraxas pushed into her and watched as her pretty little mouth consumed Lucius’ cock. It was enough to ignite a firestorm of pounding and movement and mewling and roars of completion.

As their breathing calmed, Abraxas did what Abraxas was wont to do and began massaging her instep.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you both about something.”

Her voice was off and Lucius had a strange feeling. He lifted off the bed to look down at her face; she was nearly drifting off to sleep again.

Abraxas popped her toe to remind her that she wasn’t going to leave them hanging.

“Ouch!” she snapped. “I’m not telling now!”

Lucius wasn’t having that and decided that tickle torture was the best way to get what he wanted.

“I’m pregnant!!!” she screamed, laughing.

Abraxas slowed his ministrations and looked at her with a warm smile. “I love you, my heart.”

Lucius hmmmm’d, agreeing and kissed her temple.

“Love you two, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
